My miracle baby turned 7 years old on 5/20.

Honestly, I never would have thought we would be here. There was a time when becoming a mom felt uncertain. It took 7 years for him to get here, and now somehow he has been here for 7 years. That alone feels full circle to me.

Seven years of waiting.
Seven years of loving him.
Seven years of watching a prayer become a person.

And what a person he is becoming.

He is so smart, so strong, and so sweet. He deals with things that no 7 year old should have to with grace. He notices things. He asks deep questions. He makes me laugh. He challenges me. He stretches me. He has taught me patience, softness, perspective, and a kind of love that changes you permanently.

Motherhood has not always been easy, but being his mom has been one of the greatest gifts of my life.

I think about how much waiting shaped me before he arrived. How much faith was built in the process. I wouldn’t be the woman and writer I am today if God didn’t make me wait. How sometimes God takes His time with the things that matter most.

Seven in the Bible often represents completion or wholeness, and this birthday feels meaningful in a way I can’t fully explain. Not because the story is finished, but because I can finally look back and see how much he has grown and how I’ve grown as well.

Until next time,

Dominique

Someone asked me if I can be more aligned with God, how can I be more aligned with my spouse?

That question hit me differently.

After 15 years of marriage, I’m realizing alignment isn’t about agreeing on everything.

It’s about learning how to keep turning toward each other while God continues shaping both of us.

Because it’s easy to separate the two.
To grow spiritually in private.
To feel grounded in prayer.
To sense God shaping your heart.

And then still feel tension at home.

But real alignment with God doesn’t stay vertical.
It stretches horizontal.

If God is softening me, it should show up in my tone.
If God is refining me, it should show up in my reactions.
If God is leading me, it should show up in how I love.

Alignment with my spouse isn’t about us becoming the same person.
It’s about us facing the same direction.

Alignment in Marriage Looks Like:

• Pausing before defending
• Listening without preparing a rebuttal
• Choosing understanding over winning
• Responding instead of reacting
• Apologizing without a paragraph attached

Sometimes obedience in marriage is quiet.
It looks like restraint.
It looks like humility.
It looks like surrender.

And surrender is not weakness.
It’s strength under control.

When I’m aligned with God, my ego doesn’t need to be fed.
My tone softens.
My timing improves.
My reaction speed slows down.
My need to win decreases.

That’s alignment.

We don’t drift into unity.
We build it.

Not by forcing agreement.
Not by controlling outcomes.
But by inviting God into the in-between moments:

“How do You want me to respond right now?”
“What am I protecting?”
“Is this about being right, or being loving?”

Where in your marriage might God be asking for alignment instead of defense?

Until next time,

Dominique

Connecting with God doesn’t usually fall apart because we don’t care, it falls apart because we think it requires more time, more quiet, more discipline than we actually have.

We wait for the perfect routine. The uninterrupted morning. The ideal version of ourselves who isn’t tired, distracted, or already behind.

But connection isn’t built by adding more to our schedule. It’s built by inviting God into the life we’re already living.

Sometimes that looks like a walk where your prayers are unfinished and your thoughts wander and God is still there. Sometimes it’s worship music playing while you clean, drive, or sit in traffic, turning ordinary moments into holy ones.

It might be the few quiet minutes in the shower where you finally exhale and tell God what you’ve been holding in all day. Or the drive to work when you turn everything off and let the silence say more than words.

Spiritual life doesn’t have to be rigid to be real. If it starts to feel stale, it may not be because you’re doing it wrong, it may be an invitation to try something new. Writing things down. Praying differently. Letting curiosity replace pressure.

The goal isn’t intensity. It’s attentiveness.

Faith grows through small, repeated moments of choosing to notice God and respond again and again even imperfectly.

So don’t overhaul your life this week. Just choose one small way to make space. Try it without overthinking it.

God meets us in small, faithful moments.
And those moments add up.

Until next time,

Dominique

My default coping mechanism was to freeze.

To burrow.
To hide.

And because I do, things take longer than they need to.

So how do you change a fixed mindset?

You move.

Inch by inch. Step by step. You move before you feel ready. You move without answers. You move when it doesn’t make sense.

Victory in life isn’t perfection — it’s the ability to reset, to pivot, to embrace what’s next.

We often overestimate the power the past has over us and underestimate our freedom to leave it behind. God only asks us to do the next right thing.

But movement doesn’t happen in isolation.

As your mindset shifts, your environment has to shift too.

That may mean changing:

• who you spend time with
• what you listen to
• what you watch
• what you consume

Anything that doesn’t feed what God is nurturing in you has to go.

When we remove unhealthy habits or thought patterns, we have to be careful not to replace them with busyness or different distractions. Scripture warns us that an empty, unguarded space will always be filled.

That’s why we have to be intentional, not just about what we remove, but about what we add.

We have to guard the vulnerable place where growth is happening.

Nothing not fear, not failure, not other people can take what God placed inside of you. But it does need protection.

Sometimes growth doesn’t look like bold leaps.
Sometimes it looks like quiet movement.
Sometimes it looks like choosing not to freeze.

Move anyway. God will meet you there.

Until next time,

Dominique

What have you believed about yourself based on your current circumstances or past experiences?
What have those beliefs stopped you from doing?

We all carry quiet conclusions about ourselves. Some are obvious. Others are so familiar we don’t even question them anymore. But those beliefs shape what we attempt, what we avoid, and how we respond when things don’t go as planned.

One line that keeps coming back to me is this:
You make plans, but God makes paths.

That matters, because mindset determines whether we trust the path when it doesn’t look like the plan.

Fixed vs. Growth Mindset

A fixed mindset is the belief that abilities and intelligence are innate and largely unchangeable. People with a fixed mindset often see failure as a reflection of who they are, not something they did.

A growth mindset, on the other hand, is the belief that abilities and intelligence can be developed through effort, learning, and persistence.

That difference sounds subtle — but it changes everything.

Signs of a Fixed Mindset

A fixed mindset often shows up as:

• Avoiding challenges
• Resenting or ignoring feedback
• Feeling threatened by others’ success
• Hiding flaws to avoid judgment
• Viewing failure as permanent

Reading that list can be uncomfortable. Many of us recognize ourselves in it — even if we don’t want to.

The hardest part isn’t admitting we’ve had a fixed mindset.
It’s realizing how long it’s been quietly making decisions for us.

Reflection

What belief about yourself have you accepted without questioning?
And what might be possible if that belief isn’t the full truth?

Sometimes growth begins not with effort — but with awareness.

Until next time,

Dominique

The difference between a typical growth mindset and a biblical one is faith.

A typical growth mindset is centered on the belief that I can improve, I can progress, I can figure it out.
A biblical growth mindset is rooted in something deeper. It says:

No matter what — success or failure — my Heavenly Father is not disappointed in me.

That truth changes everything.

Oftentimes, the greatest roadblock to a growth mindset is fear — fear of failure, fear of judgment, fear of imperfection, fear of letting God down.

I once wrote in my journal:
Lord, I know what You want me to do, but I don’t want to let You down.

In that moment, the words of a song came to mind:

I’ll never be more loved than I am right now…
So there’s nothing I can do to let You down.

That line stopped me.

I can’t let God down — not because I always get it right, but because my performance was never holding Him up in the first place.

Can God be disappointed in us? Scripture gives us language, but it helps to be precise. In the Bible, disappointment is a word used of people toward people, not of God toward humanity. God’s response is better described as displeasure, not disappointment.

Disappointment comes from unmet expectations.
Displeasure is dissatisfaction with a situation and a desire to move it toward what is good.

God has no false expectations of you.
No illusions.
No surprises.

God knows you fully and loves you completely. God delights in you — and grieves when you live beneath who you truly are, not because He expected more, but because He knows what’s possible.

God is never disillusioned by you.
He never had any illusions about you in the first place.

A fixed mindset keeps us stuck. One setback becomes a sentence. One failure becomes a forecast: This is how it will always be.

Faith interrupts that story.

A typical growth mindset says, “I can change.”
A biblical growth mindset says, “God will change me.”

And that truth gives us freedom to move forward without fear.

Faith doesn’t remove the work — it removes the fear

I feel good right now — mentally and spiritually.

I’m operating in my gifts.
I’m being obedient.
My house is clean.
I’m drinking water.
I don’t feel stressed.

That in itself feels like a small miracle.

And yet, there’s another voice underneath it all — quieter, but familiar — whispering, What if the other shoe drops? What if I mess this up?

I’ve lived long enough to know that good seasons don’t always stay. Discipline can fade. Focus can slip. Peace can feel fragile. So even in a good place, part of me stays alert, bracing for impact.

But lately, God has been gently correcting that posture in me.

Not with pressure.
Not with warnings.
With reassurance.

“The Lord rejoices to see the work begin.”
— Zechariah 4:10

That verse stopped me in my tracks.

God doesn’t rejoice only at the finish line.
He rejoices at the beginning.

Not perfection.
Not completion.
Obedience.

And that’s what I’m doing.

Again — but this time with renewed focus and purpose — I’m doing what He told me to do.

I’ve also stopped trying to plan my whole life at once. Instead, I’m living in three-month increments. Looking too far ahead tends to make me anxious — not inspired — and I’ve learned that peace often comes from staying present.

God is not surprised that I’m starting again. He built renewal into the rhythm of faith.

Scripture reminds us that His mercies are new every morning. Renewal isn’t evidence that we failed — it’s evidence that God is still working.

I think sometimes we fear beginning again because we assume God is disappointed. That He’s watching with crossed arms, waiting to see if we’ll finally get it right this time.

But that’s not the God revealed in Scripture.

God is patient.
God is steady.

God is faithful.

He is not asking me to carry the weight of completion — only the courage to obey today.

“He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion.”

That means my responsibility is not perfection.
It’s participation.

Hope plays a big role here.

Scripture says those who hope in the Lord will not be disappointed. It also says those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. That tells me hope is not fragile optimism — it’s an anchor. It doesn’t deny difficulty; it keeps us grounded through it.

So if I feel peace right now, it’s not because I finally got everything right.

It’s because my life is aligned — even imperfectly — with the Spirit of God.

And alignment produces peace.

This season isn’t about holding everything together out of fear that I’ll lose it. It’s about trusting that God is strong enough to sustain what He asked me to begin.

God is not disappointed that I’m beginning again.
He is rejoicing that I’m beginning at all.

And that truth is enough to keep me moving forward — one obedient step at a time.

Until next time,

Dominique

For a long time, I lived in my head.

Not in a thinking-deeply kind of way—but in a going-back-and-forth-with-myself kind of way.

I revisited the same choice over and over, as if something new would appear if I just thought harder.

It was exhausting.

Sometimes it showed up in small things—like my hair or what to do for the evening.
Other times it was bigger—direction, timing, next steps.

But the pattern was always the same: mental gymnastics.

I told myself I was being thoughtful. Responsible. Wise.

But it wasn’t clarity I was after.

It was control.

Mental gymnastics was how I tried to manage the discomfort of uncertainty. I wanted to feel settled before I actually was. I kept my mind moving because stillness felt too vulnerable.

Control kept me busy.
Peace asked me to be quiet.

And for a long time, peace wasn’t the goal.

Certainty was.

But I learned something: peace doesn’t come from making the perfect decision.

If it did, the most anxious people would be the most peaceful.

Peace came when I released the need to get everything right.

When I chose with the light I had and trusted God with what I didn’t.
When I let decisions land instead of renegotiating them ten times in my head.
When I accepted that faith doesn’t eliminate uncertainty—it teaches us how to live inside it without spiraling.

I stopped asking myself only What’s the right choice?

And started asking, What choice lets me breathe?

I stopped asking, What if I regret this?

And started asking, What if I stop carrying this so tightly?

That shift changed everything.

I realized mental gymnastics wasn’t wisdom.
It was fear dressed up as responsibility.

And I was tired of being tired.

So I gave it up.

I chose peace over control.
Trust over overthinking.
Stillness over endless internal debate.

Not because life became clearer—but because I did.

And I learned this:
If a decision costs me my peace, it’s already too expensive.

Until next time,

Dominique